A Complication in Sorting and a Sorcerer's Stone
by Phoewise Prefect
Summary: What if Harry shook Malfoy's hand in Sorcerer's Stone? What would happen then?
1. The Journey From Platform Nine and Three...

A/N: This is taking the other path in a fork in the road in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Philosopher's Stone if that's what you fancy). It is all the same until chapter six, entitled The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Page 108 if you're reading the American version. To any avid Harry Potter fans, or really any at all, I think you'll catch on. (I've included a few paragraphs involving where this story breaks off from Rowling's version.)  
  
Credits to the brilliant J.K. Rowling for thinking up the world of Harry Potter. Wish she'd come up with book 5 already. Anyway, thanks, Mademoiselle (actually it's Madame now, isn't it?) Rowling.  
  
Like stated above, portions of this have been directly copied from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.  
  
And I am typing up the next chapter as we speak.  
  
And so it begins...  
  
Chapter Six: The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters  
  
Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.  
  
"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"  
  
"Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like body guards.  
  
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."  
  
Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.  
  
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."  
  
He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."  
  
He held out his hand to shake Harry's. Harry reluctantly looked from Malfoy to Ron and back again. All he'd heard about Slytherin came from the mouths of those who had been in rival houses, hadn't it? Slytherin couldn't really be all bad, could it? All of those in it weren't completely awful, were they?  
  
Harry gulped and stared at Malfoy's hand. It was quite clear to him that he could either have Malfoy or Ron; Slytherin or Gryffindor. But what to pick?  
  
An eternity later he held out his hand and shook Malfoy's, giving Ron a look saying, "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I wish you understood."  
  
It made Harry feel infinitely worse as Ron picked up Scabbers, shoved him in his pocket, and walked quietly toward the compartment door, shutting it rather more fiercely than was necessary. Harry looked back at Malfoy, who had just turned his head from the door, a clearly visible smirk on his face.  
  
"The first lesson you should learn, Potter," said Malfoy as he sifted through Harry's enormous pile of sweets, helping himself, "is to NEVER associate with a Weasley. I don't know what misfortune occurred for you to even have the bad luck of meeting one, but try not to let it happen again, right?"  
  
Harry nodded, making a mental note to himself. So long as he'd picked Malfoy, he may as well listen to his advice. "Anyone else to avoid?"  
  
"Really, try avoiding Gryffindors altogether. Such a disgrace to the wizarding community. And Hufflepuffs, they're quite dense--the whole lot of them. It would also do you good to stay away from any Mudbloods, too."  
  
"Mudbloods?" asked Harry, frowning at his lack of knowledge.  
  
Malfoy, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind. Apparently he had grown quite used to explaining things to the ever slow posse of his, Crabbe and Goyle. "You know... Muggle-borns." He grinned. "It's a shorthand term, you see." 


	2. Four Plans and Malfoy's New Infatuation

A/N: It has come to my attention that certain people may think I do not LIKE Draco Malfoy or Slytherin, which is really (half) untrue. I myself am party to-and a moderator of-a list consisting almost entirely of Slytherins. I have taken several tests, and have come to the conclusion that I am, in fact, a Slytherin. Though I think Malfoy represents the worst of them, and gives them all a bad name-the average HP fan's thought pattern goes something like this: a-hole = Draco Malfoy = Slytherin = Bad, hence making it appear that all Slytherin's are idiots like Malfoy.  
  
Yes. That is all.  
  
Chapter Seven: Four Plans and Malfoy's New Infatuation  
  
  
Ron stormed angrily down the corridors, glancing at the compartment doors he passed, pausing every now and then to listen at one. "Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that, blah, blah, Harry Potter, blah blah," he muttered. "Clearly, fame isn't everything."  
  
  
Finally he stopped at what appeared to be the place he was looking for and slid open the door.  
  
"Ron!" Fred shouted, throwing himself at Ron and embracing him. "It's been all too long since I've seen you, dear brother!"  
  
George joined Fred in their attempts to strangle Ron.  
  
Ron struggled to get out of his twin brothers' arms. "Let GO!" he snarled as he gave the final freeing shove.  
  
"It looks like ickle Ronniekins is in a nasty mood," George said, exchanging a confused glance with Fred.  
  
Fred stepped forward. "Ron, if you don't mind my asking-"  
  
"I DO mind, actually."  
  
Fred ignored him and continued. "-What happened with Harry?"  
  
"He's just chosen to be friends with Draco Malfoy is all," said Ron, his ears turning pink.  
  
"Malfoy… the name sounds familiar," said George, scratching his head.  
  
"Not-" Fred began, but George understood.  
  
"-Lucius Malfoy's son?" they chorused.  
  
"I don't know… is Lucius Malfoy a nasty blonde Slytherin?"  
  
"Yes," said Fred, turning and looking at George.  
  
"Slytherins…" Fred mumbled. "…Nasty, the whole lot of them."  
  
George paced back and forth in the compartment. "We CAN'T lose Harry Potter to Slytherin. Not let Snape have that satisfaction." He looked at Ron. "Any ideas?"  
  
"If I had any ideas, I wouldn't be sitting here alone and friendless on my first day of Hogwarts, that I happen to have been looking forward to for eleven years!" Ron shouted, turning toward the compartment door that had just slid open, revealing Hermione Granger. "What do YOU want?" he said to her.  
  
"What he MEANS," said Fred, stepping in front of Ron, "is 'can we help you with something?' "  
  
"What HAS been going on?" She frowned at Ron's scowling face. "I heard shouting."  
  
"You'd be shouting, too, if your brothers seemed to think it was your bloody fault that Harry Potter has decided to befriend a stupid Slytherin-to-be PRAT named Draco Malfoy, just because YOUR family didn't have enough money!" He stomped out the compartment and down the corridor.  
  
Hermione looked shocked.  
  
"Sorry," said George. "I suppose this just isn't his day."  
  
Fred snorted. "That was the understatement of the century."  
  
"But what he said IS true," said Hermione fiercely, yet in an inquiring manner.  
  
"All but the us blaming him part," George nodded.  
  
"I have to go do some reading," said Hermione, thoughtfully looking at Fred and George. "Certain prophecies say that the house in which Harry Potter ends up in could determine the fate of the Earth."  
  
"You're kidding, right?" said Fred, tensely.  
  
"She doesn't look it."  
  
"I'm not sure, though." The twins looked relieved. "It may have been the fate of the Universe." She turned and left.  
  
"Oh, good," said George. "She had me worried for a minute, there."  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron stalked the corridors, the robes of his school uniform sweeping behind him. He continued to do this until he ran headlong into Hermione, who was so deep in thought she almost didn't notice. "Oh, it's you."  
  
"Hello, Ron" she said in a voice which pointed out that she wasn't all there. "Maybe you should help me… yes… come on." She grabbed the left sleeve of Ron's robes and pulled him behind her as she walked toward her compartment. Ron rolled his eyes but didn't say anything.  
  
When they finally reached the right door, Hermione slid it open. Inside it was Neville, the boy who apparently still had not found his toad, a boy with curly blonde hair that hastily introduced himself as Justin Finch-Fletchley, and a rather pretty girl named Padma Patil. When finished with their introductions, they all turned to Ron. "Ron Weasley," he muttered, glancing at Hermione. "Any particular reason I'm here?"  
  
"Harry Potter-" she began, but Ron interrupted.  
  
"Oh, will you stop it already! Just because I was sharing a compartment with the famous Harry Potter and suddenly, I'm his best friend! Well, I'm sorry to break your heart, but that is not so."  
  
"-Is a bit of an idiot," she finished.  
  
The tips of Ron's ear turned pink. "Oh," he said, and turned his gaze to his feet.  
  
"My best guess says that you, Ron, will be a Gryffindor, Padma will be a Ravenclaw, and Justin and Neville will be Hufflepuffs."  
  
"What are you getting at?" asked Padma, as confused as Ron.  
  
"Representatives of all the houses but Slytherin," Hermione said, as though this completely answered their questions.  
  
"So?" said Ron.  
  
"So," said Hermione, as if what she was about to say was the most obvious thing in the world, "we have to make sure that Harry Potter does not, under any circumstances, end up in Slytherin."  
  
Ron sighed. "Who CARES what house he ends up in?"  
  
Picking up a book (The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts) and flipping directly to a bookmarked page, Hermione read aloud, " 'If and when Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, reaches the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the House in which he is Sorted into can--and will--determine the Fate of the Universe.  
  
" 'Though ending up in Gryffindor, the House which current Headmaster of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore himself was placed in, would best shape his wizarding abilities for the Final Battle which is to come between He and his arch-nemesis He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, residing in the House of Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff would prove enough.  
  
" 'But under NO circumstances must Harry Potter be placed in the House Slytherin. Such an act could indeed result in the turning of the powerful magical forces at work in and around him from good to bad, for he is more susceptible to the Dark Forces than most and in the House of Slytherin could--and almost surely would--be tempted to give in to them. Such a drastic occurrence would turn the Final Battle between Potter and You-Know-Who into a battle between evil and evil. No matter the winner of such a battle, the Universe would be ruled by the greatest and most terrible Dark force ever known, as indeed the Battle winner would be the greater of the two evils.' "  
  
Silence greeted these terrible words. Ron coughed.  
  
  
  
  
  
As he silently chewed on the remnants of the sweets he had bought, Harry made a conscious effort to nod at Malfoy and look him in the eye now and then to show that he was listening, when in fact he was not. He had stopped listening shortly after Malfoy had gone into elaborately explaining every person he'd ever has sacked from his or her place of employment.  
  
In the midst of such a tale about a photographer from the Daily Prophet, there came a soft knock on the door. Harry, eager for anything to stop Malfoy's incessant gloating, reached over and pulled open the door. Hermione stood there for a moment, hesitated, and stepped through the door. "Hi," she said.  
  
The effect this simple, two-letter word had on Malfoy was both astonishing and amusing, or so thought Harry, anyway. Malfoy instantaneously stopped talking and gaped at her, as though the message of greeting she has spoken was magic--which, Harry reminded himself, it probably was. "I'm Hermione Granger," she said, grinning at the look on Malfoy's face (which only made him look even more like an idiot). "I'm sorry to bother you, but can I borrow Harry for a minute? Thanks," she added as Malfoy continued to gape.  
  
Hermione lead the way into the corridor. "I would like to introduce you to someone," she said, once the door was closed. "My friend, Padma."  
  
Standing there in front of Harry was simply the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He tried not to gape like Malfoy had gaped at Hermione. He nodded as a greeting and decided to focus on a small object lying on the floor. "I'll leave you two alone," said Hermione, slipping off.  
  
"Listen," Padma said once Hermione had gone, "I know you've lived with Muggles as long as you can remember, and that all this Hogwarts business is new to you. Some people have concerns for your well-being..." at this point she reached over and put her hand on Harry's shoulder, "and I just came here to tell you that if you have any questions, I will always try my best to give you an answer."  
  
Harry wondered what, exactly, she meant. "Thanks," he said, "but Malfoy--"  
  
"An un-opinionated, un-biased answer," she said, squeezing Harry's shoulder before turning around and lightly walking away.  
  
Neville, who saw that the plan involving Padma had failed, immediately leapt into action. He fretfully walked past Harry, trying as best he could to look close to tears. "Hello, Harry," he said, glumly. "I know I've already asked, but have you seen my toad?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "No, Neville, I'm sorry."  
  
Right there, in the middle of the corridor, Neville sat down and burst into tears. For Neville, they were false tears, but to Harry, they were very, very real. Harry looked frantically around for help, or a tissue, or something.  
  
"My Gran said I would have a good time at Hogwarts," he choked, "but I don't see how I'm going to when... when... when I haven't got any FRIENDS!" he wailed.  
  
"Er..." Harry said, wondering what to say. "I... I'm sure you'll find friends."  
  
Neville only sobbed harder. "No, I won't! You think I haven't tried? Everyone here's already got friends!"  
  
On cue, Just Finch-Fletchley found his way down the corridor and held up a toad. "Has anyone lost a toad?"  
  
As Neville was too busy sobbing to hear, Harry nodded and pointed to him. "He has."  
  
"Sorry," said Justin, clutching the toad, "but why's he crying?"  
  
Harry looked worriedly at Neville. "Because he hasn't got any friends."  
  
"Oh, I know how that is. I haven't got any, either." He handed Harry the toad. "Give this to him when he's done, please."  
  
Justin walked away sadly, creating the illusion that he, too, was disappointed with his lack of friends (though in reality he was disappointed because the third part of the plan had failed, and now Ron was their only chance--and clearly, anyone would be disappointed that they, too, were a failure).  
  
  
  
  
  
Justin flopped down on one of the seats in the compartment. "We're going to have to resort to our most desperate plan, then," said Hermione.  
  
"Yes," Neville said, walking in, "we are."  
  
"So," said Padma, "the 'get Harry Potter to ask me for my unopinionated opinion on Slytherin, and break it to him lightly' plan failed."  
  
"As did the 'get Harry Potter to do something Gryffindor-like for a fellow student' one," said Neville.  
  
"That was a splendid performance you put on there, Neville," Justin commended. "I almost shouted for an encore."  
  
Ron slipped something in his pocket and left.  
  
Neville grinned and, in mid-bow, stopped. "Oh, no," he said. "I've lost my toad again."  
  
  
  
  
  
When finally Harry had gotten rid of the toadless boy, he mistakenly thought that he would be left without further assault for the remaining six minutes of the journey to Hogwarts.  
  
He was wrong, of course.  
  
Just as he'd settled back into his seat, Ron Weasley tore open the door.  
  
"Oh look," spat Malfoy, "an intrusion."  
  
"At least I don't fancy Hermione Granger," said Ron, pointedly. "Nor will I ever. I just left my wand in here and I've come back to get it." He wandered over to the seat in which he had been sitting and reached under it. "It's rather hard to attend a school for witchcraft and wizardry when you haven't got your wand." He shook his arm lightly, allowing his want to escape its hold from his sleeve. He flicked it so as to roll it under the next seat and avoid looking stupid.  
  
"Having trouble?" Malfoy drawled. Ron ignored him.  
  
"Harry, can I borrow your wand really quick? I just need to find mine."  
  
Harry didn't see how it was going to help, but nevertheless handed Ron his wand.  
  
Ron carefully took the wand so he could switch it into from his left to his right hand, as it was his wand arm, where the piece of paper was expertly enchanted to stick to the wand. He hid the boy-versus-Hermione's-spell battle by raising his arms with an extravagant swish and yelled, "ACCIO WAND!" rather more loudly than needed. His wand flew at him from under the seat he'd 'dropped' it at, and he knew he was going to lose an eye unless he ducked (he'd just learned the spell from Percy and had not exactly perfected it).  
  
So, he ducked.  
  
Fortunately for him, Malfoy had been standing behind him, wand raised (probably about to perform some nasty hex). Ron's flying want hit him square between the eyes.  
  
Upon seeing the look of shock on Malfoy's face, Harry tried desperately to suppress a laugh. Ron, however, didn't bother. He burst out laughing and was soon doubled over, hanging onto a seat for support, quaking with silent laughter. He shakily handed Harry his wand with the paper attached to it, picked up his own wand, hoped for the best, and left.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Firs' years!" called Hagrid's voice. "Firs' years over here!"  
  
A lamp (attached to a rather large arm) came bobbing toward Harry. "All right there, Harry?" Hagrid shouted to him.  
  
The first years all seemed to agree, as they stepped into the four-seater boats, that the journey to the lake would have been much more pleasurable had they flown. Though they had caught their first glimpse of Hogwarts, Harry felt that his trek there was far from over.  
  
Hogwarts castle was gleaming brightly; warm light radiating from the windows flooded the air around it. It almost looked as if Van Gogh had been mounted on a broomstick high above Hogwarts, using the vast array of turrets and towers as his model for what would later be known as the masterpiece Starry Night. It looked indeed as if the castle had seen nothing but the clear sky which greeted them in all its long years.  
  
Ron, Hermione, Neville and Padma looked in dismay at the boat, which held Harry and his Slytherin-to-be comrades. Harry still had not found the piece of paper expertly stuck to his wand, largely because he had accidentally left it on the train.  
  
"Oh, no," came Harry's voice through the silence as they glided across the lake, "I've left my wand on the train."  
  
The four spectators sighed. "Well, that's it, then," said Ron. "The failure of our plans, all four of them are going to culminate in the destruction of the world."  
  
"Universe," Hermione corrected.  
  
The rest of the journey passed in grim silence, and, Ron thought, it was not going to get any better. His thoughts were somehow confirmed when the huge oak doors into the castle swung open upon the first years to reveal a woman he would soon know as Professor McGonagall: the enemy.  
  
But at least Neville found his toad, and that was something. 


	3. A Complication in Sorting

A/N: (August 1) This is not necessarily a final draft. This is the most vital chapter of all, and something may have to be changed. So check back. That means, if I have a lot of trouble because I haven't set things up right for the next parts of the story, I'll have to change this. Check back soon.  
  
Chapter Eight: A Complication in Sorting  
  
Professor McGonagall led them through the enormous Entrance Hall, past several marble stair cases, around a doorway which must have led to the Great Hall, and into a small room. It seemed they had to ration their space so as to fit the whole first year in. But nobody really minded, because in some strange way, it made them all considerably less nervous.  
  
"Welcome to Hogwarts." Ron was sure he almost saw Professor McGonagall smile at him as she said this. He didn't know that Professor McGonagall smiling was a very rare happening. He turned his gaze to his feet. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.  
  
"The four houses are called--"  
  
"Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has produced outstanding witches and wizards--"  
  
"And they have their own noble history, don't forget that--"  
  
"Let's see... your 'triumphs' will earn your house points--"  
  
"But your rule-breaking will do the opposite."  
  
"At the end of the year the house with the most points wins the house cup--"  
  
"But if that's your goal, I wouldn't recommend Gryffindor, because we're in it," finished Fred Weasley.  
  
Professor McGonagall looked sternly at Fred and George. "Mr. Weasley!" she huffed, addressing both of them at once.  
  
"We're terribly sorry to interrupt, but Professor Dumbledore's sent us to fetch you from the midst of your lengthy lecture to the first years and shorten it up for you a bit."  
  
"He says," George continued, picking up where his brother had left off, "there's something wrong with the Sorting Hat."  
  
"Something wrong with the Sorting Hat?" Professor McGonagall echoed in alarm.  
  
"It's terribly upset about something. Says it needs to consult with the four house heads and, of course, Professor Dumbledore."  
  
"The first years--"  
  
"It's okay," said George.  
  
Fred grinned. "We'll take care of it."  
  
The Professor didn't look too happy about this, but it appeared to be the only option, so she hurried off. Fred and George stood up on a couple of chairs Professor McGonagall had taken the liberty of conjuring before leaving.  
  
"We will now give you the shortened version of McGonagall's welcome speech!" George shouted above the buzzing of voices.  
  
"Blah, blah, blah--"  
  
"--Blah, blah blah!"  
  
"Get that dirt off your nose, Weasley!"  
  
Ron glared at them but spat on his finger and attempted to get the smudge off his nose.  
  
"And you there! Next to Weasley!"  
  
Neville looked up.  
  
"Your cloak fastening goes under your chin! And put your toad away."  
  
"And whoever's cat this is, needs to do something with it, because it's tearing George's face off!"  
  
George was currently struggling with a cat that had bound itself to his head.  
  
At that moment, adding to the mayhem, several ghosts drifted through the walls. They appeared to be arguing. A fat one said something about a second chance, and forgiving and forgetting, and several Oprah Winfrey talk-show level things.  
  
"My dear Friar," said a ghost who looked as though he'd just jumped out of Robin Hood, "haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost--I say, what are you all doing here?" he addressed the first years.  
  
"Firsties," said Fred.  
  
"About to be sorted," said George's muffled voice (he was still wrestling with the cat).  
  
"Ah!" exclaimed the Friar. "Good luck to you!"  
  
And they all floated through the wall opposite from the one they'd entered through.  
  
"I wonder," Fred wondered, "what's taking them so long."  
  
It was only now that it occurred to the first years that they should worry about this. "What, exactly," said Ron, voicing the question they all had been thinking, "is the Sorting Hat?"  
  
"It's a nickname. It sounds less harmless that way," Fred answered.  
  
"A nickname for what?"  
  
"Yes," George said as he flung the cat, shrieking, away from his face. "His real name is Thesortine Hatte."  
  
"He's a troll," Fred nodded.  
  
"You have to wrestle him," George added.  
  
  
  
  
  
When Professor McGonagall finally returned and led them through the enormous double doors in the Great Hall, Ron personally felt he could not possibly be any more nervous. He was turning an unpleasant shade of green with every passing second.  
  
The Great Hall was in all its glory; thousands and thousands of candles hung above the tables as though suspended by invisible arms, illuminating sparkling golden plates and goblets. The long table where the teachers were sitting was looking above the first years as they walked to the front of the Hall, all eyes upon them. They finally came to a halt facing all the other students.  
  
To avoid the penetrating stares of the others, Ron decided, for a change, to look at the ceiling (instead of his usual gaze at the floor). Of course nothing is normal at Hogwarts, and he of all people should have known that by now. Yet he was still shocked to see that there was no ceiling at all.  
  
Of course he felt like a bit of an idiot when he heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."  
  
In front of them, Professor McGonagall swiftly and silently set down a stool, and on top of the stool, placed an old hat. "Ahaha," thought Ron, angrily if not a little relieved, "it really IS a hat." Though he wasn't altogether sure it could even be considered a hat, and not, like it suggested, a terribly old piece of cloth shaped like a hat.  
  
Everyone, without exception, was staring directly at the hat at this point; the first years in disbelief, the rest of the school with expectance. There was complete silence, and suddenly Ron heard a voice--  
  
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,"  
  
He frowned. Was it the had talking?  
  
"But don't judge on what you see,"  
  
Perhaps it WAS the hat.  
  
"I'll ear myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me."  
  
Yes, Ron decided, it definitely was the hat.  
  
"You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all."  
  
Ron cracked a smile at the sad pun. It was less the pun itself than the concept that he had actually heard a hat make a pun.  
  
"There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be."  
  
Try it on! Ron laughed hollowly. So that was it?  
  
"You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart.  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;"  
  
Ron tensed up at those words. What if he wasn't in Gryffindor? He gulped and glanced at his red-haired brothers staring worriedly at the hat.  
  
"You might belond in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;"  
  
Ron eyed Neville and Justin. So long, he thought to them, for he knew that they would be placed in that house, and he would not.  
  
"Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;"  
  
He looked sadly at Padma. "Ron," he said to himself, "at least you're getting rid of Hermione."  
  
"Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends."  
  
He glared in Malfoy's direction. The destruction of the world, and it would be all Malfoy's fault.  
  
"So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safew hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"  
  
Ron shook his head as the hall burst into a thunderous applause. Despite what the hat said, he was afraid. He knew it wasn't as simple as just trying on the hat.  
  
Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding an extremely long roll of parchment.  
  
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said.   
"Abbot, Hannah!" was sorted into Hufflepuff, as was Susan Bones.  
  
Terry Boot, however, became fhe first Ravenclaw, and was followed by "Brocklehurst, Mandy".  
  
"Brown, Lavender!" was greeted by a tumultous applause from the Gryffindor table as she was knighted a member of it. "Bulstrode, Millicent" became a Slytherin. Ron followed her trail from the stool to her table, and cringed at the sight of where Harry Potter would be sitting in a few minutes' time.  
  
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"  
  
Justin slowly walked forward, curious as to how, exactly, this hat could tell what house it should put you in. Smart it may be, but even smart does not mean it can read minds.  
  
Hermione wished him good luck.  
  
The hat sat on his head for a long time before declaring him a Hufflepuff. He hurried off toward the Hufflepuff table.  
  
"Granger, Hermione!"  
  
Hermione nearly skipped forward and lightly placed the hat on her head.  
  
"Hello, Miss Granger," it said in her ear.  
  
"Er, hello," she mumbled to it, unsure of what to do.  
  
"Nice school, this is, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, yes it is, I suppose." She'd never made small-talk with a hat before. "Lovely weather, too."  
  
"Quite. Anyway, I suppose you know what I have to do."  
  
"Erm, put me in a house?"  
  
"Yes. But I meant, you know that I have to do this."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Put you in SLYTHERIN!"  
  
Hermione, eyes-wide, slowly walked to the Slytherin table. She tried as hard as possible not to burst into tears. She couldn't be in Slytherin. That was ridiculous. It was just... absolutely insane.  
  
What could go wrong with the hat that would cause Hermione to be in Slytherin? And, more importantly, thought Ron, what if it happened to him?  
  
Neville was called up. He fell over on his way to the stool, knocking the stool over, and, consequently, causing the hat to fly into the air and land on his head. Dazed, he attempted to stand up. Finally, the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
Ron was not shocked in any way, shape, or form. It had been precisely what he had been expecting. He was extremely loyal, and kind of dense--the mark of your typical Hufflepuff. Plus he had a toad, which he decided probably was an automatic admittance to Hufflepuff.  
  
"Malfoy, Draco!"  
  
Slytherin. No surprises there. The hat had shouted the name of his house before it had actually touched his head. He 'coincidentially' chose a seat at the table on the side of Hermione, who looked around her, disgusted and wondering the quickest way out of the school.  
  
"Moon"..., "Nott"..., "Parkinson"...  
  
"Patil, Padma!"  
  
Gracefully she stepped forward, giving the hat an inquring look before putting it on her head. "I see," said the hat in her ear, "that you were trying to manipulate someone into something."  
  
"Well, you know," she said, back to the hat. "I did what I had to."  
  
"It didn't work?"  
  
"No."  
  
"And you didn't go back, to try to make it work?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Ah. Right then. I suppose you'd make a good RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted.  
  
"I must say, I agree," said Padma to the hat as she pulled it off and walked to the Ravenclaw table. Ron followed her with his eyes, admiring the ease with which she stole the attention of the entire hall. Suddenly he hoped he'd be a Ravenclaw.  
  
"Potter, Harry!"  
  
Whispers broke out like storms throughout the Great Hall. "Harry Potter," Ron mumbled. "So bloody famous, yet an idiot at the same time." He glared at Harry, who was making his way to the stool.  
  
Harry did not fail to notice Ron's glare. He tried pretending he was ignoring Ron, but it was in vain, for the youngest Weasley brother saw right through his attempts at hiding the fact that he was bothered by this and continued to glare without the slightest change in emotion.  
  
As the hat dropped over his eyes, Harry caught one glance at Ron, who was standing with his arms cross, staring smugly at Harry with a smirk on his face, as though to say something to Harry along the lines of, "I know something you don't, and I'm not going to tell you, because that would spoil the fun, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Hmmm," said a small voice in his ear. "This is going to be a hard one, so many talents!.... So where shall I put you? You seem to have had an incident on the train..."  
  
Harry looked straight at the brim of the hat. How did it--  
  
"How do I know, you ask. I know, because I can see straight into your mind."  
  
'What?' thought Harry.  
  
"It's what I do," the hat explained.  
  
'Oh. I see. So THAT'S how you sort people.'  
  
"Yes. I'm having trouble sorting you, though."  
  
'Wh--what? I mean... why?'  
  
"A slight complication. Too complex to explain. Just... trouble. And so I must ask you this, and the first thing that comes up in your mind, will be the truth."  
  
'Why?'  
  
"Like I said... a long and complex story. So, here's the question: What house do YOU want to be in?"  
  
Before Harry could stop himself thinking it, he did.  
  
"Ah. Right then."  
  
'No! I was kidding! I mean, I want to be in--'  
  
"Potter, it's got to be that one. I told you. And so, now you're in SLYTHERIN!"  
  
Ron stared at the hat, trying to maintain his smug look in case Harry should look in his direction again. He was really about to burst into tears at the prospect of the destruction of the earth, and was fighting every urge to vomit from his nervousness.  
  
The Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor tables were all looking grave. Ron couldn't believe he'd lost his two friends to Slytherin. 'First Harry chooses to be in Slytherin, then Hermione is placed in Slytherin. Padma's sorted into Ravenclaw, and Justin and Neville are Hufflepuffs. At the rate this is going, I won't be having any intelligent conversation in the next seven years,' he thought.  
  
This was a thought that the hat picked up when his name was called.  
  
"So, you're afraid you're not going to have any friends in your years at Hogwarts, eh?" said the hat.  
  
'Not any intelligent ones, anyway.' He laughed hollowly. 'I'd RATHER,' he paused, 'be in Slytherin.'  
  
"Then that's what it is!"  
  
'No! I was kidding!'  
  
"Oh, be honest with yourself. You are MEANT to be a Slytherin, and you know it."  
  
'That's completely untrue.'  
  
"No, it isn't. Count off your personality traits. You've got cunning, you'll move mountains to get your way. Oh yes," the hat almost nodded, "I know exactly what has happened in the past few hours. And that you are THE perfect Slytherin. And above all... you are, quite simply, the most manipulative person who has ever placed me on their head."  
  
Ron's jaw dropped. 'This is a joke. It has to be, right? I mean, you're flawed! You had to see the house heads and Dumbledore because of it!'  
  
"The MEETING," said the hat, "was about--"  
  
'Harry Potter. Yes, I know, Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that, you FEARED that Harry Potter was going to be placed in Slytherin.'  
  
"No. You have to realize something. My thoughts only concern the sorting, not the results of it. The thoughts of the consequences of Harry Potter being a Slytherin is not my notion to entertain. I am supposed to be unbiased unless something comes in the way of the sorting. That means, I don't care, unless, by some insane chance, someone found a way to manipulate the sorting. And that person might not even know it."  
  
'Why are you telling me this?'  
  
"That meeting... was about YOU." 


End file.
